


losing dogs

by uptillthree



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 15 year old laurent's teenage rebellion, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Modern AU, auguste miserably trying to Parent, oneshot from the 'auguste becomes laurent's guardian au' i will never write, there are actual dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptillthree/pseuds/uptillthree
Summary: “I hate you,”  Laurent says, heart hammering in his chest. He regrets the words the moment they’re out of his mouth.Auguste leans back as though Laurent has physically struck him, mouth open.(Laurent sneaks out one morning. Auguste is, quite understandably if you asked him, very worried.)
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 134





	losing dogs

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is from a mitski song, no it has absolutely nothing to do with the actual story, its just a fitting phrase.
> 
> forever frustrated that almost every auguste lives modern au has some one-line backstory about auguste raising laurent alone after rescuing him from his uncle.... but there is no actual fic about it! but also i am too cowardly and chaotic to do it myself, so have just one snippet of it instead :)
> 
> i think a lot about the idea of auguste having to take up the role of official guardian instead of teasing brother, in a very turbulent time for both of them, and. there's just a lot of untapped angst potential. 
> 
> every comment and kudos is very very loved, thank u <3

When Laurent lets himself back in, it’s closer to noon than morning. Auguste is sitting at the dining table, one hand covering his face and the other clutching his phone. His shoulders are hunched and the windows are still drawn.

“Auguste?”

Auguste’s head snaps up and his eyes land on him. He stands, the chair screeching loudly against the floor. “Laurent.” His voice is unusually sharp. 

“Is something wro—”

“Where have you been?” 

“I went to visit the shelter—”

“The _what?”_

“The animal shelter,” Laurent says slowly. “There’s one three blocks away—”

“You were gone for four hours!” Auguste shouts, then winces. “I was about to call the police!” 

“What?” Laurent frowns. _The police?_ Auguste is overreacting. “Why?”

“But I couldn't file a report because you haven’t been gone twenty-four hours, so I’ve just been—” He exhales roughly. Laurent imagines him sitting in a shadowed room for hours and hours. “I checked the library. I checked the school. The park. I—”

“I didn’t mean—” 

“God, Laurent, I didn’t know where you’d gone, I woke up and you’d already left!”

“The shelter opens at six so I—” 

“You took your rucksack and your wallet but you left your phone?”

“I went to buy dog treats,” Laurent mutters. That fog of exhaustion is settling over him again. He’s thinking now that he should have just stayed at the shelter. “It’s just three blocks away, what are you so—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Auguste says, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Laurent closes his mouth, something dark and angry curling in his gut. “You should have told me. You could have texted me, or left a note, or woken me up—”

Laurent looks at the floor. “I just wanted—” 

“Anything could have happened— if something had happened to you I wouldn’t have known where to look!” Auguste’s voice cracks hard in the middle, but he keeps going. There’s a loud roaring in Laurent’s ears. “If you got in an accident, or someone tried to—” Auguste sits back down abruptly, burying his face in his hands. 

Laurent feels rooted to the spot. He can’t think. “Auguste?”

“Yes, Laurent?” Auguste has never been like this to him. He’s never seen him so angry. 

Well. He has, one time.

“Uncle’s still in prison, right?”

Auguste sighs, looking at him. Laurent notices for the first time that his eyes are red-rimmed. “Yes, Laurent. Yes, he’s still in prison.”

Laurent nods jerkily. Right. Obviously. He takes the chair beside him. “So, then…”

Auguste sighs again. When he speaks, it’s slow, like he’s choosing the words carefully, one at a time. “Laurent, you know as well as I do that Uncle involved himself with— with very bad people.”

“And— what, you think they— they’ll want revenge? Or—but he’s in _prison_ —” 

“No, I don’t want you to think about— Christ, Laurent, I just want you to consider your own safety, once in a while, please.” Auguste sounds as tired as he is. “You’re not going back there again.”

Laurent’s mouth drops open. Auguste may as well have upended a bucket of ice water over him and left him to freeze. _“What?”_

“At least not if you’re just going to leave without telling me. You have no idea—”

“I hate you,” Laurent says, heart hammering in his chest. He regrets the words the moment they’re out of his mouth.

Auguste leans back as though Laurent has physically struck him, mouth open. 

There’s a burning behind his eyes and a swelling in his throat that won’t go away, and he can’t bear to let Auguste notice. He can’t think. 

“Laurent,” Auguste starts to say, but Laurent is standing up and half-running to his room. “Laurent!”

But Laurent’s closed the door.

“Laurent?”

Auguste takes three minutes of calling his name and knocking before he accepts that Laurent is probably not coming out of his room anytime soon. “Laurent, there’s lunch ready.” 

Of course there’s no answer. Auguste sighs, but he’s not stupid enough to think that Laurent’s asleep. His Facebook says Laurent was active five minutes ago. “I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge. You can microwave it when you’re hungry.” 

More silence. Auguste’s hand hovers on the doorknob. He knows it isn’t locked, because they haven’t moved from Uncle’s apartment yet, because Auguste hasn’t found a proper, affordable replacement, and Uncle had removed all the locks in the doors, and the thought of that makes bile threaten to climb up Auguste’s throat. So Auguste could open it, technically, but he also— can’t. 

“Laurent, I’m going out for a walk. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

No response, which is really just routine by now. Auguste shoves the pasta in the fridge, texts everything he’s just said to Laurent’s phone, in case Laurent really _is_ asleep— he’s not even surprised when Laurent leaves him on read but doesn't reply— and grabs the keys. Loud music starts up the moment he’s locked the door, some dramatic movie soundtrack.

 _The little brat._

It takes a little googling and asking around to find the animal shelter Laurent was talking about. Auguste’s not even sure why he goes, except— sometimes he just wishes it could be like before, when he understood.

There’s a young woman behind the counter who gives a lazy wave when he walks in. Her name tag reads _TALIK_ in large blocky handwriting. He hears the dogs start barking at his intrusion. “Hi, come to adopt?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um. I just wanted… to visit?”

Talik gives a small snort. “O… kay? You can come to the back to look at the dogs here.” When Auguste just continues to look at her, she shakes her head and leads him through a doorway to the larger space in the next room, full of dogs— puppies and pure-breds and mutts— sniffing at the doors of their cages. “Most of them are rescues from abuse or the street, so. You know, they’re a little wild. They’re friendly once they get to know you.”

Auguste walks through it lost in his thoughts, staring at the animals whining at his feet. He thinks of Laurent sneaking out to come here and letting the hours go by. He doesn’t know what to say. Talik is staring at him oddly. “What?”

Talik waves her hand, looking away to pet the dog poking its nose through the bars. “Nothing, just— you remind me of one of my friends. You just look like him. Nevermind. Anyway, if you’re not going to—”

“You know Laurent?”

Talik stiffens. “You’re related to Laurent?”

“I’m his brother.”

Talik stares at him a moment longer, something almost cold in her eyes. Auguste’s throat is bubbling up with questions he doesn’t know how to ask. When Talik speaks again her voice is a little sharper. “Well, Laurent isn’t here, and if you’re not here to adopt, then—”

“I know that, Laurent’s at home, I just. I just wanted to see why he’d come here. I didn’t mean to— Is this the first time he’s come here?”

Talik is looking at him like he’s stupid. “Laurent’s been volunteering here for the past two years.”

Auguste blinks. “Oh.”

Talik sighs. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Sir, if you don’t have any intention of adopting, I’ll have to ask you to—”

“I want to adopt,” Auguste says quickly.

Talik narrows her eyes at him.

“I mean, I’m not sure about it yet. Probably not today. We’re supposed to be moving out soon. But if I were going to— which one do you think Laurent would like?” This is one of the stupidest decisions Auguste has ever made, topped only by his decision to go to a uni three states away. Now he needs to find an apartment that’ll allow pets. How much did dog food usually cost?

Talik’s scowling at him, but at least she seems to be considering her answer. “This one,” she says, stalking past him and pointing to a large dog dozing in the corner. 

Auguste looks at the dog, then Talik, then back at the dog. It’s a large Doberman, though Auguste thinks it isn’t purebred; it glances up at him as Auguste walks closer, eyes dark and wary, and growls. It looks like it hasn’t bathed in two months. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s his favorite,” Talik says unrepentantly. “He named it Rascal.”

“Rascal. Right.” Auguste crouches to get closer to Rascal’s level. Rascal raises himself up a little, alert. “Hey, um, how often does Laurent come here? Usually.” Talik’s quiet, so he adds, “Look, I just— I was away from home for a while, and I didn’t know, and. I’m just curious, I guess.”

Talik’s boot taps impatiently on the bare floor. “Pretty often, but kinda irregular. I only take the afternoon shifts, so I’m not completely sure.” Auguste is still looking up at her, waiting, so Talik sighs and continues. “I see him maybe at least thrice a month. I thought his parents were strict on him, so he’d come when they were too busy to notice— so, after school before he went home, when he could blame it on traffic...”

“Our parents are dead,” Auguste says quietly. “He was staying with our uncle.”

“Oh,” Talik says, her voice softening a little. “Well… anyway, sometimes he’d just sneak off here when he was in a bad mood, too.” Auguste thinks about the shadows Laurent’s had under his eyes all week. 

“He basically nursed that one back to health,” she says, pointing at Rascal with her toe. “I mean, Rascal _was_ physically healthy when he got here, but super depressed. Wouldn’t eat. If Laurent hadn’t been around playing with him every week and blowing his allowance on dog biscuits Rascal’d probably be… I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Everyone in the shelter’s practically in love with that kid, he’s a real treasure.”

Rascal pokes his wet nose through the bars, sniffing Auguste’s hand cautiously. “Yeah,” Auguste says quietly. As soon as he gets home, he swears to himself, he’ll talk Laurent out of his room and sidle back into his brother’s good graces with comfort movies and ice cream and talk about adopting a dog and maybe, maybe they can have a real conversation for once. He fucking swears it. “He is.”


End file.
